Walking The Dog.

On a normal school day, I'd peel myself off the bed at 5.50 sharp to the sounds of both my blaring alarm clock and musically Indian-themed phone alarm. By 6.00, I'd have taken my morning shower and be headed downstairs to turn on the lights in my living room. The very next thing I'd do is pry open the thick wooden doors that secure my home. Every morning, without fail, I'd see Kilo right outside the door staring in disappointment at the sight of me.

Now, such disappointment is clearly not the work of my actions. He doesn't hate me. In fact, I'd say he quiet adores me. It's because he's always expecting someone else. Because my father walks him in the morning, Kilo always looks forward to the sight of my dad shambling down the stairs, one leg at a time. His anticipation sky high as he awaits his morning walk. He seemed to disdainfully cast aside the fact I was there, even when I was staring him in the face.

Such was my quirky habits as I prep myself for school every morning, a bit of melodramatic rejection to start off the day I suppose. After gobbling up my daily serving of bread and Milo, I'd head outside to sit on a conveniently placed ceramic elephant and await my transportation. Even after all this time, Kilo would still be staring right through the door, neighing occasionally at the absence of my father. If I was lucky, my father would come down before I left. At the sight of dad, Kilo would go berserk, jumping around and whining uncontrollably, like an eager child awaiting his treat of candy. I'd laugh in amusement.

After a rough day of do-witty at school, I'd usually return with a rm 6.50 cab fare. The sound of the slamming car door would shock Kilo out of his nap, as he looks up in alarm, the look on his face suggests that there was something that needed barking at. The second the spotted me, he's pricked ears would immediately slop down followed by a rhythmic shaking of his tail. As soon as I entered the door, he'd start his morning routine all over again, as if I was dad, jumping and frolicking like a beast being released from it's cage.

For all the fuss that I have to go through, walking Kilo is more than what it seems. When I was younger, leashing him out for a short 300 metre walk around the curb of our street seemed like a daunting chore that I had to slave over everyday. But as the years progressed, it grew into more of a liking, something that I would be glad to do. You'd think that walking a hunking 50 pound rabid ball of fur would be horrendous, would you? Don't worry, I felt like that too, the dragging that he did used to give me aches on my shoulders.

I grew to enjoy our walks more and more, doing it almost everyday. Walking with him gives me a sense of escape, escape from the many mind-numbing routines of study and training. To this day, I've walked him so frequently and so many times, that I know exactly where he'd place his excretions, which tree and which pole he'd pee on and his favorite spots for bowel movement.

And no, studying the excretion habits of my dog isn't gross, it's observant. Right, Kilo?